


(365) one day(s) at a time

by ardett



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Cutting, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Therapy, Triggers, or maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23787571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardett/pseuds/ardett
Summary: Ethan has a history with this kind of stuff. Mark just didn’t know it.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach & Ethan Nestor, Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Comments: 29
Kudos: 390





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> huh

205:00:00:00

To say Ethan didn’t think about it would be a lie. To say he didn’t consider the possibility would be a lie. To say it wasn’t there in the background, an almost muted soundtrack, a hand at the small of his back, just reminding him… well, that would be a lie.

As soon as Mark had mentioned nude painting, offhand the first time and actually serious the second time, Ethan had made a mental note to himself.

That’s a lot of exposure, a lot of skin. And he has a lot of scars.

So he knew it might come up. And he had planned for it.

He’s been clean for a couple months now. Well, not exactly clean. It comes in waves. Every three months or so, the tide comes in. Every three months or so, he gives in. That’s just the cycle he’s on now. So it’s not like he’s really clean, is it? And he wouldn’t even consider it a relapse because he didn’t really stop.

But now he has to. Stop, that is.

This is a good time for him. Most of the scars from last time are decently faded. They’ll be even more faded by the time they film. He’s got this. He has to.

So that’s it.

No more cutting during Unus Annus. No more cutting for one year.

Easy.

-

They’re in the middle of the therapy cupping video. Ethan is sprawled over the table and Mark’s kneeling with the pump ready.

Mark clinks the pump a couple times and grins at Ethan. “Wanna pull your shirt up and we’ll try it on your real skin?”

Ethan groans and tugs his shirt up. “Mark,” The pitch of his voice rises. “I just don’t want it to hurt. Be gentle.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will, you big baby.”

Ethan’s waiting for the feeling of cool glass and suction but instead he feels the brush of a finger just above his hip bone. “Woah. How did you get these?”

Ethan cranes his neck to look at Mark and where he’s pointing at the lines of scars.

“Haven’t you seen me with my shirt off before?” he says instead of answering.

“I know. I have. I just never saw…” The cup and pump dangle from Mark’s hand, all but forgotten. “They look old.”

“They are old.” Ethan moves to tug his shirt down. “Are you gonna pump me or what?”

Mark twitches. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.” He hasn’t really looked away from Ethan’s hips. “Do you want to—”

“We can talk about it later, okay? Let’s finish the video and you can ask me later.”

“Okay, yeah.” Mark nods and adjusts his posture. “Let’s see what these things can do then.”

It’s such an easy deflection. The thing is, very few people ever bring it up again. It’s a fine line. Ethan wants to talk on his own terms. He wants to be confronted about it. He imagines all the scenarios in which he finally comes clean and tells someone the truth but he never opens that door for someone to ask him. Ethan kind of hopes Mark will.

He doesn’t.

-

In some ways, Ethan’s lucky. He started young. Got all the dumb stuff out of the way. Learned all the tips and tricks.

He hasn’t cut at his wrists since he was in middle school and his parents caught him. Whatever he left there was too thin, too shallow, too old. Those marks are completely gone. There have been times when he thought he could see the shadow of them when the light hit his wrist in a certain way but never really enough to notice. Definitely not enough for anyone else to notice.

That’s not really the problem. The problem is on his hips, mostly. The problem is that those were done with a pocket knife. The problem is that the knife wasn’t sharp and the problem is that those were deeper. They’re white now, the scars, almost completely blended in with his skin, but they’re raised and in rows and there’s a lot of them. There’s not really any explaining around them except to say that they’re old. Which is true.

So Ethan is recovered.

Which is almost true.

-

The day finally comes. Nude painting.

As Ethan strips in the bathroom, he checks one last time, thumbing over his most recent marks. They’re not white yet. They’re darker than the rest of his skin, with a hint of scabby redness in the middle. Only three of them but straight lines, about the length of his thumb.

There’s really nothing to do about it now. He made the conscious effort to stop as soon as there was a possibility that someone might see them.

He shrugs on the coat.

It is what it is.

Besides, he thinks that how scars age is something someone might only know if they’d gone through it. And Mark… He just can’t see Mark understanding. Not this.

-

Funny how Ethan’s disappointed anyways when Mark doesn’t say anything.

-

Ethan’s much smarter about it now. He can’t really live life in California by always wearing long sleeves and never being shirtless. Now it’s all below the belt.

If he feels like he has to do, the harm is where it would always be hidden by his underwear.

It’s about access though. He doesn’t keep razor blades anymore. They’ve been found by other people one too many times. And as much as he likes to think about his strength of will, it would be too tempting.

(He’s been fine for about three months. He’s been doing great. But part of it is about making sure it’s not too easy for him. If he’s going to do it, it’ll be deliberate.)

So he doesn’t keep sharp things anymore, not on purpose. And in a way, that makes its own problems.

Last time he felt bad, he used Kathryn’s new scissors. He just had to press so hard. And he couldn’t entirely see what he was doing. And the blade was so wide.

And it took longer than he thought it would to stop bleeding.

Sometimes he’s not sure what people mean when they say it’s about control. He’s never felt more out of control.

Those scars are ride low on his hips but the problem is that they’re scars. They’re still there and it’s been months. Ethan can tell by looking at them, he can tell by experience, that they’re probably going to be there for the rest of his life.

That’s the scariest part sometimes. When he plays it through logically, he thinks that one day this will be behind him. He’ll probably stop one day and it won’t be the flick of a switch but it will be three months, then five months, then two years, then five years. And he’ll be clean for more of his life than he wasn’t.

But he’ll die with some of these scars.

-

“Hypnotherapy, what do you think?”

“What? Like, have I done?” Ethan asks.

“No, I think— Oh, have you?” Mark pauses.

“Not hypnotherapy.”

“I was gonna say we should do it for a video. Kind of like a follow up to hypnosis videos.”

“Sure, if you think it’ll be good. Sounds like decent content.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll set it up and let you know when?”

“Cool.”

Mark hangs up. Ethan hears the beep of the call disconnecting. Huh.

He could do that. Easy, right? 

Easy.

-

It’s not easy. It’s not easy at all.

He shouldn’t have agreed to this. He should have known this wasn’t a good idea. He hasn’t been in a therapist’s office since he was twelve and his memories of it aren’t fond.

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s just for a video and it’s fine.

Then Liza asks him to find a sharp knife. And he’s in his kitchen at home, rifling through the cabinets, looking for a sharp knife. It doesn’t take long. He knows exactly where it is.

He puts a clear glass on the counter.

He checks to make sure he isn’t barefoot and he’s not and he has to remember that this is for a video, Mark is right next to him, it’s fine, it’s fine, don’t react.

He puts the lemon on the cutting board and he hears Liza say, “Very gently, cut the lemon in half.”

He cuts into his wrist.

It feels like the sensation of falling when you’re almost asleep. The jolt under your skin as something goes wrong. Ethan feels his eyelids start to flutter but he forces himself to stay in it. 

It doesn’t hurt. There’s just the feeling of energy flowing out of him as blood starts to drip down his forearm. It pushes him deeper.

He cuts the lemon.

Squeezes it into the glass.

The muscles in his arm flex.

Blood pulses out.

There’s a drop of red in the lemon juice.

When he brings the glass to his lips, he almost tastes the burst of citrus on his tongue. And underneath it, a faint coppery tinge.

Liza snaps and Ethan opens his eyes. Blinks.

Don’t look at your wrist, he doesn’t look at his wrist. It’s fine it’s fine it’s fine, there’s nothing there, he knows that.

He knows that.

“It looked like you were drifting for a second there. Were you with me the whole time?” Liza asks.

“Uh, yeah… More or less,” Ethan tries not to lie.

“Good, good, good.”

Then she brings out the real lemon and he forgets he was worried at all.

Just when he’s almost entirely brought out of it, he’s plunged back under. He agreed to it, he knows that. He said he wanted to be more confident. But he wasn’t joking when he said he saw the twelve year old version of himself.

He’s immediately brought back to the lowest point in his life. Somehow the worst part is that he didn’t even know how bad it was back then. How bad he was.

Why is he here, why is he remembering this now? It’s been years.

He thinks about it all the time but he doesn’t want to think about it now. It’s fine it’s fine, he has to remember that he’s fine and he can control himself now. He’s changed.

He’s better now.

-

Ethan goes home. And then he loses his mind.

-

Kathryn’s away this weekend so there’s no reason to stop. No reason, really, not to give in. They already filmed nude portraits and he always wears shoes anyways.

He knows he told himself no more for a year, just a year, but promises to himself are so easy to break.

He digs in his drawer for the replacement heads that came with his current razor. He needs something to pry the blades out of the casing.

He wanders into the kitchen and grabs a knife. Just where he knew it was.

He spends ten minutes working on the razor head, sawing at the plastic and bending the thin metal shards. There’s frustration from the amount of effort it’s taking to get to what he wants but the emotion is distant, muffled. It’s like he’s still sitting in that chair in the therapist’s office. Like he’s still there.

Like he’s still there.

It’s the same knife.

Very gently—

Very gently, he places the blade of the knife against his wrist.

The coolness of the metal sinks into his skin. He stares at it, taking it in. Thinks about how satisfying it would be to drag down the knife. And in his mind, it wouldn’t hurt, just like it didn’t hurt when he was sitting in that chair in Liza’s office. There would just be the dripping, the relaxing, the release.

He swallows and takes the blade off his skin.

He’s thought this through so many times. He’s not going to slip up now. Not like this, anyway. He goes back to sawing at the razor casing, finally drawing out a shard. He knows what he’s doing.

He knows—

He knows—

He knows if he just draws lines in the creases of his ankle—

He knows—

He knows the lines will fade so much better, so much faster with the razor instead of the knife—

He knows—

He knows he has to wait for the blood to well up from the cuts because they’re so thin—

He knows—

He knows—

He knows he should have stopped sooner but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

He stares at his ankles, torn to shreds, and thinks about control.

-

“What do you think about nude body painting?”

“We already did that, Mark.”

“No, not nude paintings, nude body painting. Like body art.”

“Hm.”

“Well? What do you think?”

“We already spend every video shirtless, dude. How much more material do you really want to give the fans?”

“You’re usually the one who’s down for anything. Come on, you know it’ll do well.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, like yes, we’re gonna do it?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, great. I’ll buy the paint this weekend.”

Ethan hangs up first this time. He presses his hands into his eyes and mutters, “Fuck.”

-

The paint is giving him goosebumps. The marks on his ankles were so thin that they scabbed quickly but they’re still pink in some places and dark in others as he heals. Almost like it’s just a harsh shadow. It’s not noticeable if he bends his foot but that’s hardly a natural position while standing. He keeps tilting his ankles together, angling them away from the camera.

“God, just stand up. What are you even doing?”

“Sorry,” Ethan murmurs. He straightens.

“You worried about being naked? We already did it once.”

“No, yeah, I know. That’s not— yeah.”

They ease into the jokes and banter again. Mark finishes Ethan’s upper body, moving lower.

“Okay, now the boots,” Mark says, brandishing his paintbrush. He crouches down. “Wow, your ankles are really dark.” Ethan’s breath catches in his throat. “Is it just from dry skin?”

Ethan keeps his voice even. He feels the camera watching them. “Mark.”

“I’m just saying. Look, compared to mine, see?” Mark gestures to himself.

“Mark,” Ethan says again with a little more force.

Mark looks up at him. “What?”

“Mark.”

Mark’s gaze flickers back to Ethan’s ankles. To the healing cuts. “Oh. Are they…” Mark glances at the camera, “...scratches?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Mark starts with the red paint, dragging it up Ethan’s calf. His expression is still twisted. He murmurs, “I didn’t even really notice them. They kind of blend in.”

“I know.” Ethan stops himself from digging his nails into his palm. “That’s why.”

Mark’s grip on the brush tightens. He keeps painting. “Hm.” Mark backs up, looking at Ethan as a whole. “Anyway, give us the Reverse Flash theme song.”

And that’s that.

-

But this time, Mark doesn’t let it go.

Ethan’s just come out of the shower, damp towel still in hand, when Mark calls out to him, “Hey, Ethan, are you done in there?”

“Yeah, where do you want your towel?”

“Wherever. Just throw it somewhere. Come in here for a second though?”

Ethan wanders in the living room where Mark is sitting. He’s tapping his phone on the table but it’s not on.

“Thanks for letting me use your shower, dude. Would have been awkward to drive home like that,” Ethan says.

“Yeah, yeah, no problem.” There’s a slight pause. Mark gestures to the spot across from him on the couch. “You wanna sit?”

Ethan’s nerves set in his chest. “I mean, I was gonna head home—”

“Can we just— Sorry, but can we just talk for a second?”

Ethan swallows. “About—”

“Yeah.”

Ethan hesitates and then finally perches on the edge of the couch. “Okay.”

“Ethan, I…” Mark is looking at the floor, blinking. Ethan’s chest tightens.

“Mark? Are you…”

“Sorry. This isn’t about me.” Mark rubs at his eyes and meets Ethan’s gaze. He’s clearly holding back tears, eyes red and watery. “I just…” Mark inhales. “I’m really worried for you and, um, _scared_ —” He chokes on the last word.

Ethan feels his own eyes start to burn. His hand rubs at his collarbone, scratches at it. “Mark, it’s really not that bad. I swear. It— It’s not—”

“Ethan.” 

Mark puts a hand gently, gently on Ethan’s shoulder. Ethan goes stiff. Mark isn’t usually the one to touch first. Mark’s grip slowly tightens until Ethan’s sleeve is bunched in his hand. His forehead drops against Ethan’s chest.

Ethan doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Should he hug him? Should he stay still? Should he say something? They’re never like this. Sometimes Ethan isn’t even sure they’re that close. Seeing Mark like this hurts. It makes Ethan feel like he’s bleeding again. 

No.

It makes him feel like he wants to bleed again.

“I can’t go through that again, Ethan.”

“W-What?”

“Please, please don’t keep doing this to yourself. You don’t have to. You can come to me.”

Ethan knows exactly who Mark is thinking of, what Mark is reliving. The burden of protecting Mark comes down on his shoulders, pressing, pressing him down.

“Mark—”

“I can’t lose someone like this again.” Mark is crying into Ethan’s chest. Ethan can hear each choked off gasp, each hiccuping inhale.

Ethan finally gives in, wrapping his hands around Mark to grip at the back of his shirt and hiding his face in his shoulder. He shudders as he tries to get the words out, throat thick.

“Mark.” His cheeks are warm and wet. “I don’t know if I can stop for someone else. For you. If I’m not trying to stop for myself. And I— I—” He takes in a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I want to stop for myself. I can’t tell if I’m… if I’m scaring myself or not.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“I know. I know.” His voice drops to a ragged whisper. “But what if that’s not enough?”

“Don’t we matter more to you than… than this?” 

“Stop,” Ethan breathes.

Mark’s words aren’t aggressive, just heartbroken. “Don’t we matter more to you than hurting yourself?”

“Stop it, Mark. You— you can’t put that on me. I can’t… I can’t be strong like that for someone else anymore,” Ethan sobs. He tries to hold on but his hands are trembling. “I was before and I can’t— I can’t— I just can’t do that again. I can’t be here for you. I need— fuck, I hate myself— I need someone to be here for me. I need someone to help me this time.”

Mark pulls back for the first time, meeting Ethan’s eyes. “Then let me help you.”

“But what if you can’t?”

“Then let me find someone who can help you.”

-

Therapy is terrible. It’s awful and hard and he hates talking about himself and he keeps relapsing and telling his therapist and relapsing and telling his therapist and he finds out things about himself that he didn’t want to know and it’s hard and awful and he tells his therapist that he thinks he’ll grow out of it eventually and she confirms his worst fears, that it probably won’t ever be over until he works through it.

He’s trying. He’s trying.

That’s all he can do right now.

And he knows he’s strong enough to do it. He knows that. Or he will be, one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based off [nude portraits](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NBvybwkBxtw), [hypnotherapy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xflNNfNF0o&t=757s), and [nude body painting](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pgA02UtDby8) (and if the links don't work, you know what happened)


	2. Chapter 2

00:00:00:00


End file.
